"We’re not something, but we’re not nothing." - Unknown (via h-arlot)

(Source: suburban-sister, via tragichappiness)

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"Something inside is hurting you – that’s why you need cigarettes or whiskey, or music turned so fucking loud you can’t think." - (via all-inside-of-me)

(Source: unextinguished, via tragichappiness)

REBLOG WITH 329,965 notes

I should be studying,
But instead I am lying on my bedroom floor,
Writing fucking poetry about how you are all I can ever think about.

You grow up being taught how each cigarette takes 11 minutes off your life,
And how the suns rays will cause blisters on your tender skin and leave your body in a cancerous state,
And how you should never be reckless with drugs and alcohol,
But nobody ever told me not to be reckless with my own heart.

I can remember falling over and grazing my knees when I was young,
And I can remember how my mother would wipe away my tears,
And kiss my forehead as I felt the sharp sting of the antiseptic before she bandaged me up,
But never did I imagine being collapsed in a ball on the floor in years to come,
With blood all over my hands as I try to stop the bleeding caused by my own fucked up mind,
With no-one here this time to dry my tears except for myself.

No-one warned me that even on the days where my heart doesn’t feel quite so heavy,
That I will have left myself scars to remind myself of the emptiness in my chest,
That all too often causes me to lose my breath.

But most importantly,
No-one warned me that I would meet a boy.
A boy with such a fragile mind who was also never taught not to be reckless with other people’s hearts as well as his own,
And I was never warned that he would look at me like I was his world,
But how he would be gone by the time the sun had awoken from its fiery slumber,
Or how he would have eyes so blue that I would feel as though the ocean was sweeping me away with every glance,
Or a touch so delicate that all I would ever want any more was to feel his lips pressed against my neck and his breath on my ears,
Or a mind so heartbreakingly beautiful that with every word he spoke to me it was as if he was planting a rose garden within my lungs,
And how I would absolutely adore him but I would no longer be able to fucking breathe.

I was always told that love was a magical thing but, Jesus Christ, I feel as though I am being repeatedly stabbed in the heart.

- My head hurts


homesick / T.P.R
perfectic theme